Where Are All The Ragged Heroes?
by LadyOfThieves
Summary: Who was Lucan to Dagonet? What if their relationship went further than anyone knew? You want the answers? You read the fanfic! Simple as.
1. Memories

**Chapter One: Memories**

Dagonet stood on the walkway that went around the high enclosing walls of the Roman camp. He stared out moodily into the darkness, the first flakes of snow beginning to fall and settle on the cold stone wall.

The big knight sighed and pulled his cloak tightly around him. It was late and the other knights were no doubt in the inner courtyard, drinking and womanising. Dagonet usually joined them, but not this night. It had been three long years to the very day since he had first met her, and his thoughts were with her as they always were.

_Where are you?_ _How many leagues away, and in what dark forest do you rest this night?_

He growled angrily at himself, startling a young Roman sentry near him. He was angry with himself that he could not let her go, forget about her and move on. He had known her only twelve short days, and one long night, and yet she still held his heart in her hand.

Do you still think of me? Do you look into the dark of the night and wonder where I am, what I'm doing? Do you even remember me?

Adara sat in her small house, her son in her arms. He had short, dark blonde hair, and a small smile flitted about his face as he slept. The firelight reflected on his face, making his cheeks glow with its warmth, and Adara leant forwards to kiss his forehead gently.

She looked up to see outside through a crack in the doorframe. Beyond the warm glow of the house in the trees was darkness, and Adara could just make out snowflakes starting to slowly flutter down. A single tear slowly rolled down her cheek and she buried her face in her three-year-old son's head.

_Where is you father now? Does he remember me? In three years I have never forgotten a single one of the precious moments we had together. Does he remember the night he dared to show me heaven? Does he know he has a son?_

Adara sighed and looked up to where her husband was sleeping, his features content after a warm meal prepared by a loving wife.

_What would he do if he knew my son is not his?_

And Adara's heart grew cold at the thought.

**A/N –** well what do you think? It's just a start, but for once I actually know where this is going. If you haven't read 'No Time for Love' (the sequel for this) please do – I promise it won't spoil the story any more than this chapter has! So…please R&R, and any suggestions are as welcome as ever!


	2. A Woad and a Warrior

**Chapter Two: A Woad and a Warrior**

_Three years previously_

Dagonet looked around at the devastation that lay around him. Bodies of men and women, shattered swords and blood lay on the frozen ground on the plain. As Dagonet's horse breathed an icy mist appeared, and Dagonet began to feel the cold after the chaos of the battle.

He grunted to his companion, a man by the name of Bors, who was wiping his sword clean on the tunic of a dead Woad.

"Coming?" Dagonet asked gruffly.

"Arthur said we needed a prisoner," Bors reminded his friend. Dagonet never spoke more than he needed to, and when he did his words often seemed harsh and rough, but Bors had known and fought beside Dagonet for ten long years, and accepted his silent friend's manner.

"Forgot about that," Dagonet commented, looking around at the carnage.

"We may have a problem there," Bors grinned cheerfully. "You hit pretty hard with that axe, friend."

Dagonet just grunted in reply and swung down from his horse, looping the reins around the saddle to stop his wandering off.

"There'll be one alive," Bors said optimistically, and the two men started to check the corpses for signs of life.

Finally Dagonet called Bors over, and the big man came to find Dagonet bending over a young woman with a bloodied head.

"She'll never survive," Bors commented, looking at the dent in her skull.

"Have you got any better ideas?" Dagonet asked, and Bors shrugged.

"She's a woman," Bors pointed out. "She won't know anything Arthur wants to know. Let's go any find someone else to fight."

Dagonet looked up at Bors, one eyebrow raised slightly.

"Alright!" Bors exclaimed. "We'll take her…I still don't think she'll know anything," he grumbled as Dagonet lifted her up.

Silently Dagonet pulled back her left sleeve to reveal a brand on the top of her arm, the girl whimpered slightly as she felt his touch through the hazy unconsciousness that clouded her mind.

"The mark of Merlin?" Bors asked in amazement, studying the brand.

"One of Merlin's daughters," Dagonet said, lifting the girl up to his horse's saddle and swinging up behind her. "She'll know everything Arthur wants."

Bors swung up onto his horse and grinned at Dagonet.

"Well it seems we have no reason to pick more fights with the Woads. Let's go back to the wall," and with a reckless grin at Dagonet, he kicked his horse into a canter and set off south across the frosty plains.

Dagonet raised his eyebrows slightly, and pushed his horse forwards into a smooth canter, as he juggled the unconscious woman who lolled in the saddle in front of him, and the eager horse, fighting his reins.

They rode fast all that day, heading south and passing warily through dark forests and across wide plains. At dusk Dagonet slowed his horse to a walk, and turned off the narrow path through the trees onto a scarcely visible track. Bors followed him, his horse hot and sweating despite the snow that was beginning to fall.

Dagonet pulled up at what looked like a pile of stones, and swung down from his horse, gently lifting the trembling girl down, and he carried her through a dark arch in the remains of a house to a dark room.

Bors took hold of the horses, and sorted them out, while Dagonet laid the girl down in one corner, and began to set a fire.

A few hours later, by the time darkness had fallen completely; the small room was warm and lit by the dancing flames of the small fire. Bors was heating some water over the fire, and Dagonet was tending to the cut on the girl's head.

"You could have hit her harder!" Bors commented, glancing over to Dagonet.

Dagonet didn't reply, but took the warm water from Bors, and dipping a cloth in it, began to slowly clean the cut on her head. She murmured and stirred slightly in her sleep, and opened her eyes.

"It's alright," Dagonet said, seeing a pair of luminous dark eyes looking up at him.

The woman had fear written across her face, for although her eyes were blurred and her head throbbing too much for her to think straight, she could see the scarred face of one of the knights that had wrought destruction on her people.

"It's alright," Dagonet said again, softly this time, as the woman's vision blur clouded once more, and she sunk back into unconsciousness.

"Will she live?" Bors asked as he settled himself back against one wall and pulled a cloak around him.

Dagonet shrugged, and having finished tending the girl's wound, pulled some blankets up around her sleeping body.


	3. Fear

**Chapter Three: Fear**

_A wild battle cry as the two cruel-looking knights on powerful horses charged into the clearing. It was a few minutes before Adara realised she was screaming too, and next thing she knew she was running, running alongside her kin, running at the fierce men with death on their faces._

_Adara's memory blurred, and there was nothing but pain, a sea of immense pain washing over her. And then, blissful unconsciousness._

_Next time she woke it was dark. Firelight…yes, she could see firelight, reflecting on the grim face of a battle-scarred man in front of her. Then the pain came back in a rush, and Adara wanted to scream and scream: she wanted the sharp, piercing agony in her skull to end._

Adara woke with a start, sitting up sharply, drenched in cold sweat. Her breathing was ragged and fast, and she sat still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

She was in a bed in a small room: there was no window and no light save for the dim glow that came from under the door. The throbbing in Adara's head resumed, and she reached up to touch a clean bandage, tied neatly around the wound on the back of her skull.

Adara gently put her feet down on the floor, and stood slowly, letting her shaky legs slowly take her weight. When she managed to stand properly she walked slowly across to the door, and tried it.

Bolted, from the outside.

But what had she expected? Two of Arthur's knights had captured her and brought her back to Hadrian's Wall, for that was where she knew she must be. Only the Romans constructed such buildings: and she knew Arthur and his legendary knights were stationed on the wall.

She shivered slightly, aware of the cold air, and for lack of a better idea, crawled back into the warm bed.

_Why am I here?_

Thoughts and possibilities echoed frighteningly around her brain, and Adara unconsciously touched the brand on the top of her arm.

_What if they knew I was a Daughter of Merlin?_

The thought terrified Adara. The Daughters of Merlin were a group of fighting women, as brutal and vicious as the men. If the Romans had captured her because of what she was, they would not rest until they squeezed every bit of information out of her. She would return to her people scarred and broken. If she did return.


	4. Choices

**Chapter Four: Choices**

Adara sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. She had been waiting for hours: unable to sleep, or even to think for the weight of the fear building up on her. What did they want with her? Why didn't they hurry up and get it over with? She pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, waiting, waiting and speculating.

Adara did not know how long she had been there when she finally heard footsteps outside. She trembled slightly, then breathed deeply and let herself disappear under waves of numbness. Whatever happened, whatever came when that door opened, she was not going to be afraid.

Artorius Castus, leader of the legendary Sarmatian knights that plagued the Woads entered, followed by a man Adara recognised. She had fought the knights for ten years, and seen them in battle many times, but this was one of the men who had ridden across the plain, screaming a wild battle-cry, his axe aloft. This was the man who had taken Adara from the field of the dead, who had carried her south, and who had brought her to Arthur.

"My name is Arthur Castus," Arthur spoke. "This is Dagonet."

The two men walked into the room and closed the door behind them. Adara shivered uncontrollably.

"You have two choices," Arthur spoke in a brusque voice, through it was not unkind.

Adara did not answer, but simply studied the two men, weighing up the possibilities. Dagonet had deep, sunken eyes and short dark hair. An old scar was traced along his left cheekbone, and his expression was grim.

Arthur looked a Roman through and through: he had chiselled features, dark hair and eyes, and olive skin. He wore the dress of a Roman officer, whereas Dagonet dressed as all the Sarmatians did: in the clothes of their homeland, as far from the Romans as possible.

"The first choice," Arthur spoke, "is to tell us what we need to know. Then you will be returned to your people: unharmed."

"And the second?" Adara asked fearfully.

"You refuse to tell us what we want to know," Arthur's voice was ominous.

"And then you return me to my people?" Adara could not help but add, and although she saw the ghost of a smile on Dagonet's face, Arthur remained as grim as ever.

"And then we…" he paused, "…_encourage_ you to talk."

Adara shuddered. "Why do you think I would know anything?" she protested. "I'm just a woman, why would I know anything useful to you?" she met Dagonet's eyes as she spoke, and with a shock, realised that he knew exactly what she was. She held her breath, waiting for him to tell his leader she was a Daughter of Merlin, but he said nothing.

"Think about it, Woad," Arthur's voice was harsh. "Think hard."

That afternoon, the knights sat around the round table with Arthur.

"Have you spoken to the Woad?" Bors asked Arthur when they were settled.

"She claims not to know anything," he answered evenly.

"And yet she speaks Roman!" The tall, handsome man by the name of Lancelot marvelled mockingly.

Bors looked around in surprise. "Of course she'll know things! She'll know anything you want to know," he looked at Arthur in puzzlement. "You know she is one of the Daughters of Merlin, don't you?"

Arthur looked up sharply. "How do you know?"

"Merlin's brand," Dagonet told them, as usual, using as few words as possible.

Arthur sat in contemplation for a moment, before turning to one of the servants standing at the edge of the room.

"Bring her here," he demanded. "We'll let her make her choice."


	5. Decisions

**Chapter Five: Decisions**

Adara jumped up with a start as the door to her room burst open. A tall man, not a knight but a Roman soldier, strode in. he gave Adara no time to cry out, before grabbing her arm roughly and dragging her out of the room.

Adara cried out in pain at the vice-like grip on her arm, but could not pull away from him, for she was fighting for her balance as he towed her along behind him. Eventually they stopped in front of an oak door, and this was thrown open by another Roman soldier.

Adara pulled herself free of her captor, and stalked into the room, trying her best to preserve the remains of her tattered pride. In front of her was a circular table, the knights sitting around it.

Arthur stood as she entered, but it was not out of courtesy. Adara eyed him warily, trying her best to remain calm, although her whole being was crying out in fear.

In two short steps he reached her, and before she realised what he was doing, he had pulled the sleeve of her left arm up, revealing the brand.

"And you do not know anything?" he asked in a mocking voice.

Adara did not reply.

"Now you have a choice. You talk, or you suffer."

Adara did not reply.

"Who is the spy your people planted in the garrison?"

Adara did not reply, although she was sure her heart was beating so loudly that they would realise how afraid she was. So this is what they wanted to know! But that only made it worse, for not only did Adara know the spy, but he was her brother.

Not that there was any love lost between her and her brother, but she would not wish the fate these grim knights no doubt had in store for him, upon her worst enemy.

Arthur took her chin with one hand and roughly thrust it upwards so she had to look into his eyes.

"Tell me," he said, in a dangerous voice.

Adara remained silent, staring at him defiantly. Arthur finally let go of her in disgust.

"This does mean we'll have to turn you over to the Romans. I don't know precisely how they plan on making you talk, but I'm sure you've got an active enough imagination."

"Don't want to bloody your own hands?" When Adara finally spoke her voice was full of scorn.

"Don't tempt me," a wild-looking knight with tattoos on his cheeks and long dark hair growled at her.

Adara looked contemptuously at the knights, though it was only to stem the growing fear inside herself. This was it; this was the point of no return. She could sacrifice her pride for her life, or she could suffer, and die good death.

"Make your choice," Arthur said.

She chose to keep her pride.


	6. Saviour

Chapter 6: Saviour 

Three days had passed since Dagonet had watched the Woad woman dragged away, and he rode at the end of a group of knights and squires, riding at a slow canter along the tree line of the Woads forests, a few miles north of the wall. Arthur periodically took the knights north of the wall to do a reconnaissance of the surrounding area. The Woads usually left the knights well alone on these trips, as long as they did not enter the woods, and so Arthur let some of the grooms come with them to exercise the horses, which were bored from the winter's confinement.

Dagonet rode cautiously, for although he knew the Woads would be unlikely to attack them, something told him to be wary this day. The knights rode in silence, or occasionally talking to each other, and the squires chattered away, happy and excited to be north of the wall.

As Dagonet stared into the darkness of the trees his mind wandered to the Woad girl he had taken. Since he had seen her dragged away by two Roman soldiers, his mind would not let her alone.

He was angry with her, because she made him feel guilty. Guilty that he had captured her and forced her to go through the ordeal she was no doubt going through now. He might have left her, pretended she was dead, and she would have been rescued and cared for by her own people. She was a woman, and women had no place in war, in Dagonet's mind. He was also angry that she would not just tell them what she knew, and be released, and had instead decided to be stubborn, and to plague Dagonet with guilt.

He half-growled to himself, startling the young groom in front of him who was scared of the grim-faced knight. Damn her! Why couldn't she leave him alone? Why was she haunting him so?

Suddenly, Dagonet was brought back to earth with a jolt as one of the grooms who rode in front of him veered sharply off onto a barely discernable track through the trees. Dagonet bellowed for Arthur, and in moments his leader was by his side.

"The spy," Arthur said angrily, realising what Dagonet had known moments earlier. The spy was the groom who had ridden off, knowing he would be safe in the shelter of the forest. He must have been frightened that Adara would talk, and had therefore taken his chance to escape before Arthur could find him out.

"The girl," Dagonet said to Arthur quietly, and the Roman looked at him for a moment, understanding what he meant.

"Get her," he told Dagonet. "Look after her until I get back."

"How long?" Dagonet shouted back, even as he was wheeling his horse away from the party of angry knights and bemused squires.

"Dawn tomorrow," Arthur told him, and Dagonet heard him as he urged his horse forwards into a fast gallop south.

Somehow, to Dagonet, it seemed as if everything rested on his ability to get to the Woad quickly, to stop her pain and get her to safety. It was as if he had been given a chance to repay her, and lessen the guilt that weighed down on him. And so he rode like a fury, urging his sweating horse ever faster, to get to the Woad woman with the luminous eyes, and the proud and yet terrified look.

Adara was crouched in a corner of the cell she had been thrown in, shivering from the cold. She didn't know if it was day or night, and she no longer cared. To her it felt as if years had passed in this damp, dark cell, and now nothing more mattered than resisting the next bout of pain.

She was mildly content at the moment, for although it was cold, and damp, and her body was wracked with pain, she was alone, and no more pain would be coming to her until the door opened once more.

Her fingers were broken and dislocated, her arm was broken, her body was bruised and her face and lips bleeding. She had a deep cut on her shoulder, and her wrists were bruised almost black by the sharp bonds that had held her while they slowly broke her fingers.

But she had not spoken, she thought with a stab of pride. She had not told them what they wanted to know, and for now her brother was safe. She couldn't guarantee that she would never speak, for she did not know what new ways of torturing her they would think of, but every moment of her silence brought him more time.

Adara was in a half-doze when she heard angry voices outside, and she mentally steeled herself for what was to come. The voices grew louder and angrier, and she heard the dull thud of a fist hitting flesh, and a moment late the door was smashed in, and splinters burst onto the floor.

Adara lifted her head, blinking from the bright light, and for a moment it seemed as if a saviour stood there. A tall, grim man with an angry face and a raised axe. It was Dagonet, and Adara felt relief flood through her though she did not know why.


	7. It is over

**Chapter Seven: It Is Over**

Dagonet looked in horror at the wreck of a woman that lay before him. Only a few days had passed since she stood before the knights, tall and proud, and now she was a shadow of that woman.

Adara was curled up in the corner, and her head dropped even as she saw Dagonet, for she did not have the strength to keep it up. Her hair was matted and dirty, and dried blood crusted on her lips and face. Dagonet strode across to her, a bubble of anger welling up inside him.

Adara was fighting for consciousness. She knew she should be afraid, she knew she should be fighting to get out of the open door behind the grim-faced knight, but she could not find the strength in her bruised body to do so.

Something about the knight filled her with hope, and she knew not why. He was probably just coming to try and get information out of her where the Romans failed, but a faint memory of a soothing look when she had lain half-conscious on the blood-stained ground floated around in her mind, giving her faith.

Adara was vaguely aware of being lifted in strong arms, and she whimpered slightly at the pain in her chest. Her failing mind remembered a Roman foot crashing into that chest, and the sharp cracking of ribs. But that was over now, and slowly a dark mist crept in front of her eyes. Adara wondered if this was the end, and her exhausted brain no longer cared, she was simply grateful that she was not dying alone.

Dagonet lifted the Woad woman up gently, marvelling at how light she was. He heard her cry out slightly as he picked her up, but then her eyes darkened, and her head fell forwards onto his chest. He could feel her ragged breathing, and held her protectively as he carried her out of the dark cell.

The first thing Adara was aware of when she woke was the warmth. To her it had felt if she would never be warm again, when she lay on the cold stone floor of the cell, with the damp penetrating into her bones.

She struggled to open her eyes, blinking even at the dim light of a candle in the room. She could see Dagonet sitting in front of her through her blurred vision, and although his face wore its normal grim expression, there was a flicker of a smile in her eyes.

Adara struggled to sit up, but cried out softly as pain suddenly flooded through her body, and she submitted when Dagonet pushed her gently down onto the soft blankets.

"How do you feel?" he asked, looking at her worriedly.

Adara smiled weakly. "Better. Warmer."

Dagonet really smiled this time, and Adara was amazed at how much it transformed the harsh face.

"Why am I here?" Adara asked, frowning slightly as possibilities raced through her mind.

"We know who the spy was," Dagonet informed her, and saw her face drop in horror.

"I didn't speak did I?" she asked wildly. "I never said anything, I didn't betray him!" she tried to sit up again, her face flooding with dismay.

"Ssh!" Dagonet said. "No, you didn't betray anyone. He escaped."

A wild look of hope filled Adara's eyes. "Escaped?" she breathed, and Dagonet could not help but think how beautiful she looked when she was filled with passion.

"It's over," he told her. "You are safe now. It's over."

Adara sunk back onto the blankets, breathing heavily, filled with relief. "Over?" she asked, trying to comprehend the situation.

"It is over."

Well guys what do you think? Please review, any suggestions would be really great – I don't have all that much of a clue where this is going!


	8. Desperation

**Chapter Eight: Desperation**

Adara lay, trembling at Dagonet's words. He had left her, to go and bring her some food, and Adara could scarcely believe this was happening. And yet it was, for the blankets around her bruised body were real, the dim light of the candle beside her bed was real; the clean bandages around her cuts were real.

And then there was Dagonet.

The knight that had both delivered her to hell, and delivered her from it. The knight that looked at her with a strangely respectful gaze and a mocking smile in his eyes. Adara sighed as she tried to sort her muddled brain. What was it about him that made her mind drift to him when it shouldn't?

Dagonet returned to find a shocked looking woman lying on the bed. He smiled inwardly, and sat down on the chair beside the bed, a bowl of warm stew in his hands. He offered it to her, but Adara looked at him with a dismayed look.

He saw her hands then. Broken, bruised and dislocated fingers, which Dagonet almost winced to look at. He looked at her steadily for a minute, and felt she understood what he needed to do.

"I'll have to put them back," he told her, and although Adara's eyes widened, she nodded and pulled herself up to a sitting position.

Dagonet wrapped his hands around her slender fingers, revolted at the pain he would have to cause the pale brave woman. Slowly he tightened his hold on the first finger, and with a snap it clinked back into position.

Adara almost cried out at the pain, but was too proud, too strong, to show fear in front of this man. And she felt like he respected her for it, for the look that he gave her was full of a strange calm that settled her racing heart.

Dagonet clicked the next finger back into position, and saw a tear run down the woman's face. This was joined by another, until by the time he snapped the last finger back tears were streaming down her face, although she uttered not a sound.

"Well done," he whispered gently to her, and felt her grip on his hands tighten slightly, as if seeking comfort.

Adara sat back, wiping her eyes fiercely, angry with herself for showing so much emotion.

Dagonet offered her the bowl of soup, and hunger overcame the pain in her fingers and she took it greedily.

Dagonet watched silently as she ate. He wanted to lean forwards and pull her close until all the pain was gone from her, and he saw a desperate plea in her eyes for comfort, but both of them were too strong, too proud to admit that they needed anyone, and so they watched each other, and wondered why the other had such a hold over them.

"What's your name?" he asked as she ate.

Adara paused for a minute, looking at him uncertainly, her spoon poised midway between her bowl and her mouth, balanced shakily on her hurting fingers. Was he trying to lead her into a trap? For all she knew they still may not know who the spy was and he could be trying to trick her into giving him information. But the calm, almost gentle look in his eye was anything but devious, and Adara needed to trust someone.

"Adara," she said softly.

"Adara," Dagonet tried the name out.

He took the bowl from her gently when she had finished and Adara lay back on her pillows, exhausted from the effort of eating.

"Rest," he told her, making as if to leave.

"No!" Adara cried out, leaping forwards and putting one hand on his arm. She blushed and looked down when she realised what she had done, but then looked up again, a fierce desperation in her eyes.

"Please," she begged. She looked down again, ashamed at what she was saying. "Please don't leave me. They may come back for me," she spoke quickly, as if to try and get rid of the words that wounded her pride. "Please, I…I'm scared," she said miserably, hanging her head in shame.

Dagonet hesitated for a moment. He should go and see Arthur: find out if they had caught the spy. And yet…she had pleaded for his help, when it evidently wounded her to have to beg for anything. She needed him. The thought was stronger in his mind. She needed him, and what would he be to let her down now? After all he had made her go through.

Dagonet settled back in his chair, and was immediately rewarded by a grateful if uncertain look from the fiercely proud Woad woman called Adara who had pleaded for his safety.

**A/N –** how d'you like it? I'm sure you can see the romance developing here. Or else I just can't write! Please, please review! You don't know how happy it makes me. It doesn't cost you anything more than a few seconds of your time, so please press that little review button and make me a very happy woman : )


	9. Awakening

**Chapter Nine: Awakening**

Pale sunlight flooded through the window above Adara's bed when she woke. She groaned softly, stretching her aching body and struggled to open her eyes. She sat up, and nearly screamed in fright when she saw Dagonet.

The big knight was leaning back in his chair, fast asleep. Adara smiled to herself at her surprise, and struggled to sit up comfortably. There was a beaker of water beside her bed, and she took it, taking slow sips, and letting the cool water still her dry mouth.

While she drank she studied Dagonet. He was a tall, muscular man, with a scar on his cheekbone that gave him a grim look when he was not smiling. He had short, dark hair, and wore plain clothes. A studded jacket lay beside the chair he slept in, and Adara assumed he must have taken it off when she slept the night before, for she could remember him wearing it when he smashed through the door to her cell.

Dagonet stirred and opened his eyes slowly to find Adara studying him over the rim of the cup she was drinking from. He offered her half a smile, and Adara smiled nervously back at him.

Dagonet rolled his stiff shoulders back and stretched. The Woad woman, what was her name again? Adara. That was it. Adara. She was watching him with the trace of a smile playing around her lips. How long had she been awake? Not that it mattered particularly.

"How do you feel?" he asked roughly.

Adara shrugged, and immediately regretted the action for she felt her ribs scream out in protest. "Alright," she said. "Better than yesterday."

Dagonet nodded and hauled himself to his feet. "I have to report to Arthur. I'll send a woman in to help bind your wounds and dress."

Adara nodded, and watched him haul his studded jacket on. When he was at the door, about to leave, she called out to him against her will.

"Dagonet!"

He paused and turned back to her, a strange look on his face.

"Thank you," Adara said simply.

A faint smile flashed across his lips and he disappeared, leaving Adara alone to wonder how she could make the big knight smile.


	10. Dishonour

**Chapter Ten: Dishonour **

Dagonet was sitting at the round table with the other knights and Arthur, his back to the door. They were discussing mundane matters: Bors and Galahad were arguing about something, and Dagonet had stopped concentrating.

He was suddenly aware of silence and heard the sound of the door being closed. He turned slowly in his chair, vaguely aware of the other knights looking over his head in amazement.

Adara stood there, wearing a pale lavender gown of soft silk that rustled as she moved. Dagonet scarcely recognised her, for her blue-black hair fell over her shoulders, curling delicately at the tips.

A pale blush rose to her cheeks as she felt the eyes of the knights on her, and she cast her eyes demurely downwards, fighting to stop the bubble of laughter that was threatening to rise in her throat.

Arthur suddenly recovered his manners and stood, instantly the courteous gentleman.

"Please sit," he said, pulling a chair back for her.

With a grateful smile at Arthur that made Dagonet's stomach growl in jealousy, Adara sat, and Arthur resumed his place.

"I apologise for our treatment of you, my lady," Arthur began. "But I could not put my knights at risk."

"Of course," Adara answered in an amused voice. "I hear the spy has fled?" she left the question hanging delicately in the air; a challenge to whichever man would take it.

"He has, milady," one of the knights said. He was a handsome man, Adara thought idly, with a manner that oozed charm and coal-black curls, framing a sharp face with amused and yet slightly mocking eyes.

"And you are…?"

"Lancelot milady," he grinned sideways at her.

Adara looked at him with interest for a moment, an immense satisfaction growing inside her as she felt the men's admiring eyes on her. She had had a fight with Vanora, the pretty young woman with copper curls that had helped her bathe and dress, over the lavender dress.

Adara had told her bluntly that not Woad ever wore a dress of that cut, colour or material, but Vanora had insisted, and now Adara was very glad that she had.

Adara turned away from the woman charmer who went by the name of Lancelot, and turned to Arthur Castus, the man who was a legend among her people: considered unbeatable on the battlefield, and a traitor to his Briton mother.

"And what will happen to me now?" she asked innocently.

"You will stay here until we can exchange you," Arthur replied uncompromisingly.

"No!" the wild-looking Sarmatian with tattooed cheeks and long, braided hair said violently.

"No?" Arthur asked, raising one questioning eyebrow.

"No," Tristan stated flatly, looking at Adara with loathing. "She will betray us to her people. Se will send messages to them, or else kill us as we sleep," he turned back to Arthur, and spoke flatly, "kill her."

"I did not _ask_ to be here!" Adara protested indignantly, appealing to Arthur. "I am just a Woad woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"What kind of Woad woman speaks Roman?" Tristan asked scathingly.

Adara fell silent. She looked down as shame flooded through her. Memories and secrets hidden at the bottom of her heart came rushing back, engulfing her and drowning her in dishonour. She could not say the words that would save her life though she was aware of the knights' eyes on her.

"One with a Roman father," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

**A/N –** what do you think? Thank you MedievalWarriorPrincess for all your reviews, I am _so _grateful to you! D'you think I should have a scene before this? Adara and Vanora talking? Get back to me please!


	11. What You Are

**Chapter Eleven: What You Are**

As Adara left, her cheeks burning with the humiliation of having to admit her darkest secret, Dagonet caught up with her and fell into step beside her. The two walked together in silence for a while before Dagonet finally spoke.

"I'm sorry about Tristan, he hates the Woads. They killed one dear to him," Dagonet said, struggling for something to say.

Adara shrugged slightly. "Do not apologise for him. I hate the Romans as much as he hates my people, I think."

"Why?" Dagonet asked automatically, before silently cursing himself for speaking before he thought about his words.

Adara didn't mind though. In fact she was grateful that he had brought the subject up. She needed, desperately, to talk to someone. Her whole life had been built around concealing the secret, and it had burned into her soul.

"My mother fell in love with a Roman," she said in a scathing voice. "She gave herself to the enemy, and she spent the rest of her life living in humiliation. I ran away when I was twelve, started a new life, with a new name, where no one knew what I was. But still that Roman," she spat the word out as if it was a curse. "Ruined both my life and my mother's."

"You do not blame your mother?" Dagonet asked curiously.

"She was foolish to do what she did. But it was she who had to live out her life an outcast. She suffered for her mistakes, she paid for them."

"You hate all Romans." It was not a question but a simple statement.

"Each day my aim is to kill as many as I can before the sun goes down," Adara said flatly, and even Dagonet was scared by the hardness of her voice.

"Vanora's mother was a Woad, her father a Roman," Dagonet said, more out of want of something to say, rather than any particular reason, but somehow the simple statement lifted some of the shame Adara bore.

Dagonet glanced sideways at Adara. "You are what you have done, not what those around you did."

Adara looked at Dagonet, a small frown on her face. Suddenly, she smiled. "I'll never understand you people."

Dagonet shrugged. "Perhaps," he said quietly. "Perhaps."

**A/N -** Just a short chapter this time guys. I'm stuck in an ICT lesson and really should be doing some work but am seriously bored so I'm updating. It's a kinda random update, nothing to do with the storyline, just something to pass the time! Kepp reviewing please!


	12. Lightening

Chapter Twelve: Lightning 

To Adara, the days passed interminably slowly. She would spend her time with Vanora and the other women of the camp, sewing and laughing and gossiping, but Adara felt caged up.

She wanted to be able to feel the rain on her face once more, to ride across an open plain, to sleep curled up under the trees while the wind whistled around her, to hear the silence in the grey pre-dawn light, when a thin mists hangs low over the countryside.

In the garrison there was nothing but stone: walls and floors and ceilings. No freedom, no creativity. She was constantly sheltered from the wind and the rain, and even the sunlight did not seem to have the same warming, calming effect inside a courtyard that it did in the open plains.

But then there was Dagonet. He came to see her each evening, to bandage her fingers, inspect her bruised knuckles, and talk to Adara. They did not say much, for neither were of many words, but what they did say meant something to both of them, and despite herself, Adara found herself looking forwards to the evening meetings.

Dagonet had left Adara an hour or so earlier, and she lay on her back in her room, trying to sort her muddled thoughts. There was something about him, something she couldn't explain, and it annoyed her. She didn't like to be out of control, and that was how she felt when he was near her.

Dimly, through the thick walls of the room, Adara heard the soft pattering of rain start up. As she lay there in the darkness the rain got heavier and heavier. Suddenly there was a rumble of thunder and Adara jumped slightly.

She lay, listening for a moment, and then suddenly stood up. She reached out for one of the cloaks she had been given, and throwing it roughly over her shoulders, left the room.

Adara walked almost silently along the deserted passages. She paused slightly before she had to cross the entrance to the sheltered courtyard where she could hear the knights drinking and womanising, but the gateway was in shadow, and she passed across unseen.

Or so she thought.

Dagonet, sitting beside Bors and nursing a cup of wine, watched the slender figure hurry silently through the shadows. He stood up, ignoring the others, and followed the dark cloak down a passage and out into the rain.

He stopped, unseen by Adara, who paused as she felt the rain hit her face. But that wasn't enough for her. With a cursory glance around her, she hurried up the stone steps and onto the garrison wall.

This was a real storm. The wind whipped the water into her face, stinging her cheeks, and blowing her hair loose from the rough plait, and throwing it back. She let the hood of her cloak slide down onto her shoulders, and stood, basking in the power of the storm.

Dagonet watched, slightly amused, from the shadows. This was no escape attempt. He considered his options. He could return to getting drunk and leave her, he could stay and watch her safely back to her room from the shadows, or he could go up to her.

He immediately dismissed leaving her here. It was too dangerous for her to be alone at night with drunken men around. So did he let her know he had seen her or not? Part of him was willing to stay and watch from where he is, but something inside him longed to see her face, hear her voice.

Adara stood, oblivious to all but the storm; unaware of the effect she was having on the knight who stood below. Suddenly she heard a noise behind her, and turned with a cry to see Dagonet standing there, the rain dripping off him face.

Her eyes widened, first with fear, and then with embarrassment at being caught, but Dagonet simply turned to look out from the wall. After a moment he felt Adara relax beside him.

She looked so beautiful, he thought. With rain running down her face and the wind whipping her long dark hair backwards. But he did not speak, or even look at the woman beside him.

"You saw me?" Adara asked after a long time.

"I saw you," he replied in a voice that did not betray any hint of the emotion he had felt watching her.

"I love storms," Adara said, feeling a need to explain to the tall, grim knight.

"I see that," Dagonet said, turning to Adara, and she saw a smile in his eyes if not his lips.

They resumed their silence again, both staring out across the plain over the wall, both stealing glances at the other when they thought they were not looking

A bolt of lightning split the sky in two, tearing a jagged pattern down to earth and striking an oak tree a few hundred metres from the wall.

Adara gave a small cry of fear as it tore down, jumping slightly, and instinctively pressing close to Dagonet for safety. He wrapped his arms around her impulsively, and as she tilted her slender face upwards to look at him, he bent down and kissed her.

Adara was taken completely by surprise, and for a moment could do nothing but stand there and let it happen. But she had never felt anything like the sparkling sensation that exploded in her mouth and ran down her spine. Suddenly she was drowning, drowning in a world with her and Dagonet and nothing else, and she kissed back, wanting the sensation to never end.

And so the two stood there on the storm-washed walls, water running down their bodies and the wind whipping their clothes backwards, locked in an embrace that overpowered both of them.

Finally Dagonet drew his head back and met Adara's eyes. In his eyes she saw what was in her heart, and it both scared and amazed her.

Dagonet smiled, the ghost of a smile but a smile nonetheless, and releasing her, he was gone. Adara stood on the wall for a long time, unconscious of the storm, oblivious to everything but her thoughts and the memories of his touch.

When she was finally brought to her senses by the rain lightening off, she shook herself slightly, trying to recover her senses from the daze she was in, and walked mechanically down the steps and back to her room, unaware of the man following her, ensuring that she would come to no harm.


	13. Get Drunk

Chapter Thirteen: Get Drunk 

Dagonet didn't sleep that night. He paced around his room, his thoughts full of the Woad with the bewitching smile. The touch of her skin on his, the taste of her lips, her expression as she looked up at him: so trusting and, dare he say it, loving.

He growled angrily. What was it about her? She had a hold over him that no woman had ever had before and it almost scared him. Before he had always been the one watching Bors fall in love with Vanora, watching Lancelot wooing his women. Now it was his turn.

He was drowning: all memory life before _her_ was gone, and life without her was impossible. He wanted her so badly, and yet would rather die than hurt her. He slammed his fist into the wall, his temper boiling over.

Adara walked back to her room and got into clean, dry clothes as if in a daze. She was intoxicated by the memory of warm hands around her, a smile dancing in his eyes, his lips on hers…

Adara gave a moan and threw herself onto her bed. She could almost kick herself she was so angry with herself. What was she to fall at the feet of a Sarmatian? She was an ignorant fool who was letting her emotions get the better of her. She was a Woad, he a Sarmatian knight. It was not going to happen.

Dagonet left his room before dawn and went to the courtyard where the knight assembled. He hadn't slept and had bags under his eyes and stubble on his chin. He sat down next to Bors and downed a cup of wine in one go.

"Bit early for that my friend," Bors commented, looking worse for wear himself.

Dagonet growled at him and filled up his wine cup again.

"Let me guess," Bors said, his voice thick and eyes bleary. "The mighty Dagonet has finally found a woman."

Dagonet said nothing, and Bors turned to him in disbelief. "It's not true is it?" he asked incredulously, the traces of his hangover fast slipping away.

"What woman?" Bors asked roughly.

Dagonet did not reply, but at that moment Adara walked nervously into the courtyard, and for a fraction of a second her eyes met Dagonet's before Vanora approached Adara and the two women disappeared off.

"_That_ woman?" Bors asked in amazement.

Dagonet glared at him and Bors laughed.

"Oh my friend. Now you are going to have great fun!" He chortled.

"Don't you dare tell anyone," Dagonet finally said.

Bors raised one eyebrow. "Would you spoil my fun old friend?"

"She's a Woad," Dagonet said roughly. "Think of Tristan."

That stopped Bors in his tracks.

"He's going to kill you," he said in a stunned voice.

"He's going to kill her," Dagonet said.

Bors gave him an amused look. "You're learning your priorities quickly old man…what are you going to do?"

Dagonet shrugged. "Get drunk."

Bors studied his friend for a moment, and then nodded. "Good plan," he said seriously.

The two men proceeded to execute their plan to the best of their ability all day, stopping only to pass out at one stage.


	14. Don't Leave Me

**Chapter Fourteen: Don't Leave Me**

Adara studiously avoided Dagonet for the next few days, speaking to him only when necessary. She was sure Vanora noticed the change in her, but she was too tactful to ask Adara what it was.

It was on the third day since the storm that she finally spoke to him. She was lying in her bed, dozing off when there was a soft tap at the door. She recognised the knock as Dagonet's, since he had often come to see her and bandage her fingers.

Adara was suddenly wide-awake. Did she pretend to be asleep and let him leave? Or did she let him in, look him in the eyes and face the growing fear inside her: the fear that she could love him.

She had decided to fain sleep, when her mouth opened of its own accord and called him in.

Dagonet opened the door cautiously and came in slowly, closing the door behind him. he said nothing but took the seat beside Adara's bed.

She sat up, and put her hands out for him. He took one hand in his own, and began to unwrap the bandages slowly and gently. Adara felt a tinge run down her spine at the touch of his rough hands on her smooth ones, and for a moment she wanted the touch to never stop.

Dagonet inspected Adara's fingers carefully, meticulously avoiding her eyes, though he could feel hers on his face. for a fleeting moment he wanted to look up, to catch her watching him and see the look of fright on her face like when he had found her in the storm.

But sense prevailed, and he did not meet her eyes before speaking.

"They are looking better," he indicated her fingers.

"Yes," she flexed them gently. "They feel it."

Against all his wishes, Dagonet's head was slowly drawn up until his eyes met Adara's gaze. He was startled to see the same emotion in her eyes as in his own. A bitter struggle was going on inside each of them, and as their eyes met all defences fell away.

Adara suddenly felt unprotected under Dagonet's steady gaze, as if all her defiance had been stripped away, leaving her with nothing but raw emotion. She gently ran her fingers through his, marvelling at the effect the touch of his skin on hers had on her.

Dagonet looked into Adara's eyes and saw her soul. She had thrown herself recklessly at him, and was falling with no one but him able to catch her. Suddenly, Dagonet made up his mind.

He rose, and Adara's fingers dropped from his hands as he made his way to the door.

"Don't leave me!" Adara pleaded, finally throwing herself at the mercy of a man she hardly knew at all, and yet felt as if she knew everything there was to know about him.

"I wasn't going to," Dagonet said, bolting the door with a firm gesture and turning back to her.


	15. Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

Chapter Fifteen: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow 

When Adara woke moonlight shone down through the small window, illuminating her and Dagonet. She lay with her head resting on his bare chest, and he had one arm wrapped around her slim shoulders.

Adara felt a strange wave of pleasure and pain wash over her. Pleasure because she was lying in his arms. Pain because she knew she had to leave him. The longer she stayed, the less likely she was to leave, and if he woke, she knew she would never find the will power to leave him.

She knew she could not stay. She would end up as Vanora was: the lover of a knight, bearing his children and watching him ride out to do battle with her people. And if there was one thing Adara had, it was self-pride. She admitted she may have given in to herself last night, but that was the last time.

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, she eased her way away from the warm sleeping form of her lover, and out into the cold air. She dressed quickly, avoiding looking at Dagonet for fear she may give in and never leave the room.

When she was dressed she made her way towards the door, but stopped before reaching it. Slowly, fighting herself every second, she turned back to him. In two short strides she had crossed the distance between them, and kissed his cheek gently. He murmured, but did not wake.

"I love you," Adara whispered gently, finally admitting something she had known since she had woken in his arms on the long ride as he carried her away from the battlefield.

Tears filling her eyes she pulled her cloak around her, and left the room quietly, never to return. Tears were streaming down her face as she left the garrison, and the slightest thing would have made her turn back, but she carried on walking: walking away from the man she loved, from everything she could have had, from the place she had left her heart.

Adara stole silently up to the top of the wall. It was ridiculous to try to get out through the gates, for they would be guarded. What she planned was equally as ludicrous, but it was better to die escaping, Adara thought, than live a captive.

The section of the wall was deserted: the guards were no doubt dozing or entertaining women and wine. Adara walked slowly to the edge of the wall and looked down. This was it. One movement and her decision would be made, no turning back.

She heaved her shoulders as she sighed, and turned back briefly, half-hoping to see Dagonet coming towards her to take her back, but he was still sleeping, unaware that his lover was leaving him.

Adara turned back to face the North: her country, her people's land. She could not abandon all that for a man she had known only twelve days. With tears blurring her vision, she swung herself over the wall in a swift movement.

She landed heavily, and heard the distinctive cracking of bones. Adara lay there for a moment, marvelling that she was still alive, before slowly moving. She reckoned she had cracked two ribs and broken her arm, but besides that she had got off remarkably well.

Cursing slightly she pulled her aching body upwards, and with one last look up, back at the wall, she set off at a swift run towards the forests, and safety.


	16. Uncertainty

**Chapter Sixteen: Uncertainty**

_Four Years Later_

Dagonet sat idly on his black horse, one hand holding the reins loosely, the other crossed over the first. He surveyed the battlefield sadly, blood still wet on his sword. They had won the battle and the Woads had retreated to the trees, but now the bloody field was covered in the survivors searching the dead and the wounded.

Automatically his eyes scanned the Woad women, as he had always done since _she_ had left him. He hadn't seen her since that night so many years ago, when he had watched her sleep in his arms, but somehow he knew she was still alive, somewhere out there.

It was more a certainty that he would know if she was dead rather than any proof that she lived, but it was enough for Dagonet. His eyes came to rest on a small child with dark brown hair running among the corpses, inspecting their faces.

"So sad that one so young should perform such a task," he thought as he watched the child.

The boy suddenly stopped beside the body of one dead Woad. His face showed some concern, but it was evident to Dagonet that even the child, who could not be much over four years old, was familiar with death.

The boy turned his head and called out across the sea of corpses. Dagonet's eyes wandered to see who would respond to his calls, and the next moment his heart almost stopped.

For it was _her_. He knew her from every dream he had ever had in the last four years: the blue-black hair, the graceful walk, and stunning blue eyes. She went slowly towards the boy and knelt beside the body, taking the child in her arms.

Dagonet slowly urged his horse forwards into a walk and approached her.

Adara knelt beside the body, tears in her eyes. She gathered her son in her arms, holding him tightly as if to remind herself of everything she still had.

She was suddenly aware of a presence just outside her vision and looked up sharply, to see _him_. She froze in shock as their eyes met, unable to believe what she was seeing. Slowly, she stood up, taking her son in her arms, and walked towards the man she could not believe existed.

Dagonet slid down from his horse and stood, uncertain. Adara stopped with three paces between them, and for a moment they just stood there. Then Dagonet's gaze dropped to the small boy she held in her arms and his eyes widened slightly.

Adara, noticing where his gaze fell, set her son on the floor, and whispered a few words in his ear. He glances uncertainly at Dagonet for a moment before running off towards the trees. Adara took another step towards Dagonet, shaking slightly.

"Is it you?" she asked, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

Dagonet said nothing, for the words caught in his throat, but he nodded slightly. They stood, immobile, as wave after wave of forgotten feelings crashed through them at the other's presence.

"The boy…" Dagonet finally managed to say.

"Lucan," Adara said, and Dagonet saw the trace of a smile on her lips as she thought fondly of her son. "He's almost four years old," she said irrelevantly.

Dagonet said nothing, unable to ask the question that burned in his throat. He looked down, unable to find the strength to ask about Lucan. Instead he searched for something to break the uncomfortable silence between them.

"Who…who is the man you were looking for?" he asked roughly.

Adara immediately winced in almost physical pain, and Dagonet instantly regretted asking the question. But the pain was not for the loss of the fallen as he thought, she was hurting because of who the man was.

"He…he was my husband," Adara whispered, her face flushing in shame as she looked down.

Dagonet's face immediately clouded over. He had waited four years for her, dreamt of her every night, looked for her on every battlefield, and she had got married? While he was suffering over his love for her, she had found another man and evidently loved him from the pain on her face.

"Dagonet!" Adara pleaded, seeing the film of ice come over his expression, cutting her off from him and hiding his heart. "Please, let me explain!"

"There's nothing for me to hear," he said expressionlessly, and turning away from her, swung up onto his horse.

"Dagonet!" he heard her final cry as he rode away. Shame burnt in him. He had loved her and now he looked like a fool. She had never loved him! She had just used him to escape, and then returned to her life, without ever sparing a thought for him. He was a fool for even imagining that she could feel for him what he felt for her.

Watching the only man she had ever loved ride away, Adara felt as if her world was breaking apart. She dropped to her knees, crying his name, but if he heard he showed no sign of it. Adara felt tears run down her face.

That was it. The one chance she had to make things right between the father of her child and herself, and she had ruined it. She would never see him again, and he would forever hate her for what was not her fault.

A/N – what do you think? Ooh the tension! Will they ever meet again? Tune in, same time, same place for the next exciting instalment! Just joking! Actually I'm gonna be away for a week or so, so you'll just have to learn to be patient. Are you any good at that? Let's hope so! And I'm in a well random mood so I'm gonna stop before I say something really weird and scare you off reviewing!


	17. Reunited

**Chapter Seventeen: Reunited**

Adara stood in the small one-roomed house that she had shared with her husband for the last four years. She was kneading bread on the rough table, her hands and dress floury and her hair escaping from the plait it was in.

Though her demeanour was as calm as always: her face placid, her movements relaxed, inwardly, she was sobbing. She had lost him. Before, there had always been the chance that she might meet him again, the chance that he would remember her. But now…now she had ruined her only opportunity.

She was in no doubt now that he hated her. If she learnt that he had taken a wife in the four years that they had been separated, she would certainly be angry. And so she gave up hope of her son ever knowing his father.

Outside, Lucan sat, playing with a puppy. The two were fighting over a stick; the puppy's tail wagging frantically as he growled his miniature growl. Lucan, growling back at the puppy, was suddenly aware of a mounted man coming into the clearing around their house, and he dropped the stick, the game forgotten.

"Mama! Mama!" Lucan cried, not taking his eyes off the stranger on the black horse.

Adara, hearing her son's frantic cry, rushed out of the house, only to be brought up short by the sight of the man on the horse.

Dagonet looked down at Adara, her hair ruffled up, flour on her hands and skirts, and the most adorable spot of flour on the end of her nose.

"I'm ready to listen," he said haltingly, and was immediately gratified by the relief flooding across Adara's face.

"Lucan," she said, kneeling to talk to her son. "Will you help Dagonet sort out his horse while I get dinner ready?"

Lucan nodded importantly, puffed up by the responsibility given to him. Adara straightened up, laughter in her eyes.

"Can I ride your horse?" Lucan asked, looking nervously back at his mother, amazed at his own daring.

"We'll have to ask your mother about that," Dagonet said, grinning at the small boy, who then looked imploringly at Adara.

"Oh alright then!" Adara said, pretending to be cross. "But don't be too long, or you'll miss your supper."

With a whoop Lucan ran to his mother, who lifted him and placed him in the saddle in front of Dagonet. She smiled fondly at her son, and having ensured he was safe in Dagonet's grasp, she went inside to sort out dinner.

They ate together, listening to Lucan chatter on about Dagonet's horse, and his ambition to be a horse himself when he grew up. Eventually the boy exhausted the topic, and crawled onto his mother's lap to promptly fall asleep.

Adara kissed the top of his head, and sat contentedly. She was in a warm house, with the firelight flickering on her face, her son in her arms and the man she loved beside her. She and Dagonet were perfectly content to sit there together for some time, neither wanting to breach the unpleasant subject that was looming.

Eventually Dagonet broke the silence.

"You said he was almost four," he said, nodding towards the peacefully sleeping Lucan. "It was just over four years ago that…that," his voice choked up and he was unable to finish.

"He is yours," Adara said simply.

Dagonet sat, contemplating this for a moment. "Then why?" he asked, anguish wriien plainly on his face.

Adara buried her face in her son's soft curls, and when she raised it a tear rolled down one cheek.

"I was pregnant with the child of a Sarmatian," she said, pain audible on every word. "If I had not married, they would have realised," she turned her eyes up to Dagonet, pleading with his to show understanding.

"No one knew?" he asked quietly.

Adara shook her head. "They thought he was my husband's child."

"Why, why didn't you just come back to me when you found out?"

Adara looked at him scornfully. "I didn't know if you even remembered me! And I was too proud to go crawling back to you." She paused. "Besides. There was always Tristan."

Dagonet sat with a small frown on his face. "You knew?" he asked, incredulous.

"That he once loved a Woad?" Adara asked, raising her eyebrows. "Of course I knew," she hesitated. "She was my sister."

Dagonet leaned back, trying to understand what she was saying to him. "You mean… the woman Tristan loved was your sister?"

Adara nodded, and Dagonet whistled slowly. "And yet you still…"

"Went to your bed?" Adara asked, arching one eyebrow. She shrugged. "Yes."

"But the risk!"

Adara shrugged again. "Don't you think I knew? I saw my sister killed for loving a Sarmatian, I saw that Sarmatian then ride in, too late to save her, and kill every Woad he could lay his hands on. I saw a good man turn to a monster because of the woman he loved. Believe me, I knew the risk." She sighed. "Don't you understand? That's why I couldn't let anyone find out."

Dagonet let out one long, shaky breath. They sat in silence for a moment, before Dagonet spoke.

"Your husband?" he asked in a flat tone.

Adara understood his meaning instantly.

"I never loved him," she said in a small voice. "He was a good man, and I believe he loved me. He adored Lucan, certainly. Merlin arranged the match. It was far better than I could ever have hoped…and yet," she looked up and met Dagonet's eyes.

"Gods I've missed you!" she finished fiercely.

* * *

**A/N –** OK so the thing about Tristan is a bit obscure. Basically it will be another story after I've done with this: why Tristan kills for pleasure. I might even have to start posting it up before this one's done. I'm getting impatient to get it started! Please R&R as ever! 


	18. Moonlight

Chapter Eighteen: Moonlight 

Adara woke with a start. It was dark but the moonlight spilled through the cracks in the walls to light the room. She automatically glanced at Lucan, and saw him asleep, wrapped up in warm blankets.

Something was not right though. It took Adara a moment to work out what it was. Dagonet. He had been here. She looked around wildly, a sudden fear that he may have left without her setting in.

"Adara?" she heard the familiar voice from outside, and rose and padded out on bare feet.

Dagonet stood there, bare-chested, wearing only a loose pair of trousers, his back to her. He turned when he heard her come out, a smile on his face.

"Look," he said gently, turning back

Adara went to stand beside him, and he wrapped one strong arm around her slim shoulders as they both gazed in wonder.

A yellow moon was rising, and its light flooded through the trees, illuminating the clearing. The night was warm, and perfectly still, and Adara laid her head on Dagonet's shoulder with a soft sigh.

He held her close for some time, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her hair and feeling the burning sensation on his skin where he held her. He sighed, and eventually spoke.

"I'll have to leave you know," he said softly, almost afraid to break the stillness.

"I know," Adara answered simply.

"You'll come with me?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"I can't."

Dagonet nodded and tightened his grip around her. They stood, once more in silence, for some time before Adara finally spoke.

"You won't forget me?" she asked in a small voice.

"I couldn't."

Adara let out a long, shuddering sigh and buried her face in his chest. Dagonet kissed the top of her head, and she felt a tear run down her cheek.

"Don't forget me," she whispered once more. "Never forget me."


	19. A Final Mission

**Chapter Nineteen: A Final Mission**

_The knights' fifteenth year of service, and their final mission._

Dagonet rode in with his usual casualness: he could have been born in the saddle for the ease at which he moved with the horse, never seeming to weary of the swaying motion. His eyes looked almost closed, and a casual observer could be forgiven for thinking that perhaps he was half-asleep.

This however, was as far from the actual truth as could be. Dagonet often spent weeks in the saddle, and when he had to stay up throughout the night on watch, or scouting for the next day's ride, he had soon learnt to rest as much as he could when riding. But despite his drowsy appearance, he was alert. Every fibre of his body was ready for the moment when they might come under attack, his half-closed eyelids concealed eyes that looked warily around, and every sense was attentive for any motion or sound that may betray a watching enemy.

It was cold. The skies were grey with snow, not yet fallen. The land looked dead and lifeless: plants had either died in the harsh frosts or were left leafless and barren, while all animals had fled the cold, retreating to warm burrows where they slept the winter out. The only sign of life, besides the knights riding warily across the desolate land, was a hawk wheeling high above them.

Tristan could always be located by that hawk, Dagonet thought idly to himself, as he looked absently up into the overcast skies. He wondered whether Tristan would have any news on the Saxons, as he pushed his horse forwards into a faster canter to catch up with Arthur at the head of the line of knight.

"Arthur!" he said, in his customary unceremonious manner. "Tristan's back," he nodded at the hawk circling in the grey sky.

Arthur followed Dagonet's gaze and nodded. "We will need to move faster to get there before nightfall. Tell the others," was his reply.

Dagonet nodded and wheeled his horse away towards the column of knights.

Tristan emerged from the woods about half an hour later. His face was perhaps even grimmer than usual, and his voice was abrupt and harsh.

"Saxons coming from the north. An entire army. We have to move faster if we're going to have a chance," he told Arthur bleakly.

Arthur nodded. "We're almost there. Another hour, perhaps two?"

Tristan looked up into the sky. "We won't make it back before nightfall," he decided.

Arthur nodded. "I know."

"Camping in Woad territory?" Tristan asked. "Sheer foolishness."

"When I want your opinion I will be sure to ask for it!" Arthur snapped, feeling increasingly short-tempered, as the mission seemed more and more likely to fail.

Tristan smiled slightly, setting Arthur's teeth on edge, and, pushing his horse forwards into a fast gallop, disappeared back into the trees.

Arthur watched Tristan until he disappeared, and then turned and shouted over his shoulder. "Get a move on or you'll be entertaining the Woads _and _the Saxons soon!"

The tired knights pushed their even more fatigued horses on, and the group set off at a fast canter across enemy territory as the snow began to fall.

* * *

**A/N –** I know, I know, it's been _ages_ since I've updated. Sorry! I got caught up with another fanfic I'm doing – very distracting as I'm sure you know! But I'm back on course now, juggling the two of them, so you'll have to forgive me if I'ma bit slow in updating. As you can see, it is the last mission of the knights – rescuing Alecto, so I'm sure this will be familiar territory to you guys.

In response to a question I got from Sailor Earth (I think it was you…correct me if I'm wrong): yes I did have a sequel to this on the site, but I took it off, and it is currently being re-worked. It will be back when I find some time to sort it out and get it back on the site. Please hang on until then!

Another point that I've just remembered – the title, 'Where Are All The Ragged Heroes' is taken from a poem by John Tams: 'Where Are All The Ragged Heroes?'


	20. Attack

**Chapter Twenty: Attack**

Adara shivered in the cold evening air. It was dusk, and she rode with Lucan in front of her. He was sleeping, his angelic face poking out of the warm cocoon she had made from her cloak for him.

It was almost nightfall, she guessed, though it was hard to tell, for the sky was overcast with thick grey snow clouds. She estimated that she should be able to get to the village she was aimed for at about an hour after the sun set. She didn't like riding in the dark, but if the other option was to camp in unfamiliar territory, she decided to take her chances in the night. With a small shiver she pushed her horse faster, wanting to get to safety as soon as possible.

She had been sent to a village further inland from her old home, by Merlin. He had decreed that, as her husband was dead, she had no business near the Saxons, and was moving her 'to safety'. Personally, Adara had some doubts about Merlin's motives. Never before had he concerned himself with her well-being, and Adara couldn't see why he would begin now.

Adara assumed that he was planning to get her fighting once more. He had showed some mercy when she had had Lucan, but the boy was old enough to look after himself, and Merlin rarely accepted potential warrior not fighting, for any reason.

Adara sighed slightly to herself as she rode across the quiet landscape, bleached grey by the moon. She didn't want to be a warrior! She was tired, not only physically, but mentally. Every moment of her life had been a struggle, and now she just wanted to watch her son grow up: to see the girls chasing him, and him weild his first sword. She smiled fondly down at the sleeping boy and pulled him tighter towards her warm body.

And then it started.

An arrow whistled past Adara's ear, and she heard the dull thud as it was embedded in the frozen ground. She pulled her horse up sharply, drawing her sword and spinning on the spot, trying to locate the unknown assailant.

Adara's heart began to beat faster, and she found, to her amazement, that her hands were trembling. Never before had she been scared under attack. But this was different. She had something, more precious than even her own life, sleeping peacefully in front of her: the only reminder she had of the man who had stolen her heart, and her fear was entirely for the sleeping boy.

Another arrow whistled dangerously close to her, and she followed its flight path to the trees, not far from where she stood. She felt Lucan wake, and he whimpered slightly, but, for the moment, his comfort was not her concern. The only thing worth worrying about was his life, and at the moment, she was in no state to protect that.

Her eyes scanned the dark woods around her, and finally she found her attackers. The bright moon illuminated the ground, as she saw them as they rode casually out of the trees. There were five mounted men, all dressed in Roman armour, laughing among themselves, even as they raised their bows to fire at her again, completely oblivious of the torturous stream of emotions racing through their victim's brain.

Adara saw the arrow loosened. She saw it speeding towards her. she saw Lucan, woken suddenly for a deep sleep, look up at her with trusting eyes, and time seemed to slow as the arrow inched closer. With an agonised cry, Adara spun the horse to face away from the oncoming missile of death, protecting her beloved son with her own body.

Her body stiffened as the arrow pierced her. It went straight into her back and the bloodied tip protruded from her chest. She gave a rattling sigh, and then her body went limp, and she slumped sideways.

Her horse panicked at the dead weight on its back, and reared up. Lucan slipped from the saddle with the body of Adara, still shouting to his mother to tell him what was happening. As he fell there was a sickening crack as his arm broke. Lucan only gave the smallest of cries as the blinding pain from his arm shot up through his small body, but this was lost in the turmoil in his mind when he saw his mother.

Adara's lifeless body lay on its side a few metres from Lucan, and he tried to crawl towards her, still crying for her, pleading with her to speak to him.

The Roman soldiers, barely looking at the life they had so nonchalantly taken were alerted by the whimpering noises made by Lucan, and they rode arrogantly over towards the place where Adara lay. Lucan was still shaking her body futilely, blind to the soldiers with the power to administer his life or death.

One of the men slipped off his horse, and though Lucan gave nor reaction to the proximity of his mother's murderers, the soldier raised his short sword to deliver the death stroke to Lucan, but, with a warning shout, his companion stayed his arm.

"It's only a child," he pointed out.

Lucan, oblivious to anything happening around him, continued to plead with his mother to open her eyes. He was unmindful of the previously blinding pain of his broken arm, for in his life there was only him mother. She had always been there, and until this moment, he had never even considered a life without her.

"It's still a Woad," the soldier with the drawn sword said, in a cold, hard voice. "It'll die anyway."

"Take him to Marius," another of the soldiers: a tall, lean man with a swarthy appearance said in a drawling tone, leaning haughtily over the pommel of his saddle.

For a moment the sword was held in balance, just above the sobbing boy's neck, and that moment seemed to stretch into eternity as the soldier debated whether to take the life of the small boy in front of him.

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he raised the blade from where it rested.

And then brought it sharply down on the back of his head.

The flat of the blade hit Lucan's unprotected skull with a dull thud, and the boy slumped forwards over the body of his mother, the pain, grief, and incomprehension of the situation disappearing into a swirling black mist that engulfed his senses and sent him to blissful oblivion.

* * *

**A/N –** I'm sorry! I didn't want to kill her, but there was no way she would have let Lucan be taken from her while she still had her own life. What do you think of the chapter? I'm not sure it came out exactly as I wanted it to – perhaps this is a bit conceited, but I wanted it to sound more dramatic. Any ideas as to how I could do that? 


	21. A Light in the Darkness

**Chapter Twenty-One: A Light in the Darkness**

When Lucan woke, all he could see was darkness. And then his other senses started to work, and he was engulfed in screams, moans, whimpers, and worse, insane babbling. A strange smell met his nose: a smell he had never smelt before, but instinct told him what it was. It was the smell of death, of those dying and of those who did not have long left in this life.

Lucan, initially frozen in fear, began to look around. He was in a circular pit, with a mesh above him. his arm throbbed, as did his head, from the fall.

The fall. Slowly the memories washed back into his tired mind. Woken from a comfortable sleep. A sickening sound as an arrow hit flesh. The fall. Blinding pain. His mother, lying still, her crimson blood spreading across the snow. Why hadn't she answered him?

It hurt too much to think about. And so he didn't think about it. There was the present, and nothing else. No past, and if something spectacular didn't happen, he doubted he had a future either. He was alone, and there was no one to save him.

Lucan whimpered slightly and curled up into a tight ball, as if by making himself as small as possible he could block out everything that had happened.

* * *

Next time Lucan woke, he had no memory of his previous life. As he slept, he had built a wall around his heart, protecting himself from the pain and grief that he could not deal with.

The small boy blinked, aware that torch light was flickering in the passageway. There hadn't been light before, had there?

He heard a deep voice, speaking not in his tongue, but that of the Romans.

"See if there's any still alive."

Lucan whimpered and shrank back, as if trying to hide himself. His captors had spoken in Latin.

He heard raised voices, and then there was the sickening sound of metal sliding through flesh.

"That was a man of God!"

"Not my God!" came a voice, the anger in it scarcely concealed.

But for some reason, that voice gave Lucan some hope. It was not Roman, and though the man spoke in Latin the man had an coarse accent, and though Lucan did not recognise the voice, the accent was familiar.

He heard the metal grate next to him scrape open, and a very familiar voice spoke. "This one's dead."

Lucan wanted to cry out, to make sure that the well-known voice came to him, and lifted him out of the hell he was in, but fear kept him in check, and he stayed silent.

Then hands appeared at the grate above Lucan. The metal bars were pulled back, and a face appeared at the top.

Relief washed through Lucan. He knew this face! But with it came memories. Memories that caused nothing but pain, and so he forced them to the back of his mind, along with the familiararity of the face, so he wouldn't have to grieve.

"Arthur!" Dagonet shouted, and reached down and carefully lifted the boy out.

Arthur was picking a woman up from out a cell, and Dagonet followed him out, cradling the boy in his arms. He had not failed to recognise him, but he had seen the blank look that Lucan had given him, and knew that it was not the time to let emotions and long-concealed secrets come out.

Dagonet knelt on the snow-covered sand. Propping Lucan up, he carefully let some water dribble onto his lips. Horton, the man sent by the bishop, came up to Dagonet.

"His arm is broken!" he exclaimed.

Dagonet didn't answer, instead concentrating on slowly feeding Lucan the water.

"And his family?" Horton asked.

That stung. Those three simple words had sent a arrow straight into Dagonet's heart, and his eyes steeled, as he looked down at his son, and realised what the Romans could have done to him.

And another part of his mind was filled with doubt and pain as a single word echoed over and over.

Adara.

Dagonet almost doubled over with nearly physical pain. Where was she? What must have happened to her that she had let her child be taken? He was sure she wasn't back in the dungeon, dead or alive, and that offered no comfort.

He was almost oblivious to what was happening around him as his eyes rested on his son's face, pleading with him to tell him where she was. But no recognition showed on the small boy's face, and Dagonet was close to despairing when he heard a voice that filled him with loathing.

"I was willing to die with them. Yes, to lead them to their rightful place.  
It is God's wish that these sinners be sacrificed. Only then can their souls be saved."

Dagonet slowly turned eyes, blazing with anger, towards the monk who had spoken, but Arthur retaliated first.

"Then I shall grant his wish," he said, his voice deceptively soft. But there was nothing but hardness in the next words he spoke. "Wall them back up!"

Dagonet watched with quiet satisfaction as the monks were forced back into the hell they had created, and he did not look away until their final cries had died away. When the final sobs of 'these sinners, these sinners!' were completely lost behind rock he looked down again at Lucan, and found the boy had passed out in his arms.


	22. Despair

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Despair**

Dagonet rode beside the wagon that trundled along slowly. Inside, Lucan slept where Dagonet had left him. The fever was passing from him, and the best cure he could have now was sleep.

Dagonet's mind was in turmoil. Where was _she_? What had she gone through that she had let her son be taken from her? But in his heart, Dagonet knew the answers. And yet the pain was still too fresh, and Dagonet's mind refused to accept what his heart knew and grieved for.

"Dagonet!" Lancelot called to him, breaking him from his cheerless thoughts. "Arthur wants to see you."

Dagonet nodded, and pushed his horse forwards into a smooth canter to catch up with the Roman who rode at the head of the column.

"Arthur," he said simply, in greeting, as he slowed his horse down to a walk.

"Dagonet," Arthur returned the unadorned salute.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Dagonet probed.

"Yes." Arthur said, though he seemed disinclined to bring the point up. "Are they well?" he asked finally.

"The woman and the boy? Aye, they're well enough. The woman's fingers are healing, and though it looks like she was there for a long time, a month maybe, they'll be no lasting harm."

"And the child?"

"His arm is healing, and the fever is leaving him. I don't think he's been in that hellhole long. He'll live."

"Dagonet," Arthur began uncertainly, and Dagonet could sense that Arthur was about to broach a subject that troubled him. "The boy…what is he to you?"

Dagonet stiffened unconsciously, and this did not go unnoticed by Arthur. "He's just a child we rescued," Dagonet said, fighting to keep his words even.

"Dagonet, you lie so rarely that it is painfully obvious when you do. You need to keep in practise."

Dagonet flashed his a sheepish grin, before returning to gazing moodily out over the bleak snow-covered landscape.

Just when Arthur had given up all hope of ever receiving an answer, Dagonet spoke. "He's my son."

Whatever Arthur had been expecting, that was not it. He swung round sharply to stare at Dagonet, who was persistently avoiding his eyes.

"Your…your son?" he repeated incredulously.

Dagonet did not answer, and Arthur stared along the road ahead thoughtfully. "there's not much of a resemblance," he remarked.

"He takes after his mother," Dagonet answered roughly.

"Ah, yes. His mother." Arthur clearly did not want to bring the point up, but was dying to know who she was. As far as he knew, Dagonet had never had any romantic attatchement, but, he thought reflectively, he kne very little about the big silent knoght.

Realising that Arthur was never going to ask him directly, Dagonet answered the unspoken question. "She was a Woad," he said brusquely, trying to hide his racing emotions under a curt manner. He sighed then, and when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. "Do you remember a Woad woman that I brought to you? A Daughter of Merlin."

"yes," Arthur answered, narrowing his eyes as he tried to grasp hold of the memory. "Adrama, wasn't it?"

"Adara," Dagonet corrected shortly.

"And she is the child's mother?" Arthur pressed, watching Dagonet out of the corner of his eyes. All the knights were skilled in hiding emotion, but Arthur watched in amazement as pain and regret raced through the silent man's eyes.

"Was," Dagonet said, putting Arthur right even as he finally accepted the truth to himself.

Arhthur watched an inner struggle going on in Dagonet, until he finally spoke. "I'm going to ride ahead," he said curtly, and pushed his horse into a fast canter, leaving the column behind.

Arthur knew he should stop Dagonet, he knew it was too dangerous for anyone without the scouting skills of Tristran to be riding alone in country with not only Woads but also Saxons, but he did not have the heart to stop him.

When Dagonet was far out of sight of the column, he pushed his horse into a flat-out gallop, and raced through the snow, seeking relief in the stinging feeling of cold air on his face and the relief that speed brought.

When he finally slowed to a walk. He was amazed to find tears streaming down his face. His face screwed up with an almost physical pain, and as he raised his face to the heavens, a single word escaped his lips.

"Adara."


	23. Not A Bad Start To The Day

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Not a Bad Start to the Day**

That night, as they settled down to sleep on the frozen ground, Dagonet wrapped Lucan in a warm nest of blankets, and put his leather studded jacket over the small boy who watched him with trusting eyes.

Why doesn't he recognise me? Dagonet thought despairingly. What had he been through, that he had blotted all memories from his mind? But he did not voice these fears, and instead had to be contented with caring for the boy to the best of his ability.

But how was he to know how to look after children? And yet, he thought guiltily, it was his own fault. He should have been there, by Adara's side. She had needed him, and he had not been there. And now he was trying, desperately trying to make up the years he had lost, and pay some of his debt to the woman he loved.

The woman he loved.

Where was she now? Watching him from a distant land. Smiling gently at his clumsy attempts to care for their son? Or cursing him, for abandoning her when she needed him most?

Dagonet sighed softly, and his eyes returned to Lucan's face. The boy was sleeping peacefully, all cares and worries eased away from his face, and Dagonet smiled fondly at the sight. He could not remember a time when his sleep had been so untroubled. Before he had come to this accursed country, he thought bitterly.

And it was beside his son that he slept.

* * *

Dagonet was sleeping, curled on his side, with Lucan next to him. Unmelted snow rested on the faces of the boy and the man, and the ground was frozen, but the sun shone weakly from between the clouds.

Dagonet jerked roughly from sleep by one of the Roman soldiers, to Marius' cry of, "Seize him!"

Dagonet was dragged violently along the ground for a few feet, and he was fighting before he was released. He struck out, hard, at the man in front of him, and was on his feet and fighting with his fists within seconds.

"No!" Lucan cried out as he woke, and this served only to fuel Dagonet's anger and growing hatred for the Romans.

He fought well, and hard, as if he had been brawling on street corners all of his life, but he did not see Marius' hand reach out from behind Lucan, and grab the boy roughly, covering his mouth so he could not cry out.

Dagonet kicked the three Roman soldiers to the ground, and had time to draw the dagger from his boot, snarling in rage at the soldiers, when Marius' voice cut through his fury.

"I have the boy!"

Dagonet turned to see Marius with a knife to the struggling Lucan's throat, and for a moment, his world stood still. He had come so close to being given a second chance, so close, and now that was being taken from him, by a fat Roman and his greed.

Lucan whimpered slightly, and Dagonet stood, for the first time in his life, uncertain. Marius gestured curtly to the Romans.

"Kill him!"

Dagonet growled in the back of his throat, turning with his knife held high, ready to confront anyone who dared to try and take him on, but Fulcinia, the wife of Marius, moved first. She dived in, shouting at her husband, but he only pushed her away violently, shouting at his men to kill Dagonet.

And then an arrow, seemingly out of nowhere, sped past Dagonet. Time seemed to freeze, as he watched the arrow moving painfully slowly towards Marius and his son, and for a moment, one terrible moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Dagonet thought that Lucan would be hit. But the arrow hit Marius, square in the chest, and he looked down at it in amazement.

Dagonet spun around to see who the mystery archer was, and saw Guinevere, dressed now in Roman attire, walking through the snow as she raised her bow again.

Marius fell back, and Lucan ran to Dagonet, shaking in fright. Dagonet just saw Fulcinia bend over the body of her dying husband, before he swept Lucan up tightly into his arms.

The soldiers stood uncertain, and Dagonet pushed Lucan down, drawing his sword and snarling, a terrible animal snarl of rage and anger, both for what had happened and for what had almost happened.

He glanced to his left to see Arthur and Lancelot join Guinevere's side, Arthur with his sword drawn, Lancelot with his twin swords resting on his shoulders in his usual cocky stance.

"Your hands seem to be better," Lancelot commented to Guinevere in his customary flirtatious manner, that remained constant no matter what the situation.

Guinevere gave Lancelot a contemptible look, and she loosed an arrow that landed just on front of the feet of one of the soldiers, making them jump backwards nervously.

Dagonet glanced over to Arthur, twitching for permission to kill the bastards who had dared to hurt his child, but Arthur gave no sign of agreeing with Dagonet's sentiments, and the big knight stood rocking back and forth, his sword still raised high.

"Artorius!" Came Bors' wild cry as he cantered into the clearing, his axe raised high, and his horse squealing. "Do we have a problem?" he asked, skidding to a halt just behind the terrified soldiers.

Dagonet could not help but roll his eyes slightly. Bors just had to be melodramatic.

Arthur levelled his sword, his face grim.

"You have a choice," he told the soldiers. "You help, or you die." His eyes were as hard as steel, and Dagonet had no trouble in believing that Arthur was perfectly willing to carry out his threat.

The men looked at him for a moment, and Dagonet was desperate for them to fight back, if only so that he could fight for Lucan. Guinevere had stolen the death of Marius from him, and Dagonet could not forgive her for that. He had wanted Marius' life himself, an a vicious bloodlust had risen in him.

One of the soldiers dropped his sword on the snowy ground. "Put down your weapons." He ordered. When the others did not move, he shouted. "Do it now!"

Dagonet roared along with the Roman, daring anyone to disobey, and was almost disappointed as the swords dropped onto the earth, and Arthur lowered his sword, nodding to Jols, who rushed forwards to collect them. Dagonet still had his sword raised, but he had to admit that even the Romans were not stupid enough to give him even the slightest reason to kill them.

"How many did you kill?" Bors shouted to Tristan, as the scout came cantering into the clearing.

"Four," Tristan replied curtly in his Sarmatian accent, that, out of all the knights, he had retained.

"Not a bad start to the day!" Bors said, laughing.

Tristan came to a stop in front of Arthur, and dropped a crossbow at his feet. "Armour-piercing, " he told him. "They are close, we have no time."

"You ride ahead," Arthur said, and Tristan nodded, lifting his face to meet Dagonet's gaze. He raised his eyebrows slightly at Marius lying in the snow, his blood staining the snow, with Fulcinia weeping over him, and Dagonet shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly, as if to say 'they wouldn't let me kill any more!'

Tristan flashed him one of his rare grins, and spun his horse, cantering out of the clearing as quickly as he had arrived.

* * *

Sorry it's been so long coming, but I've had a million and one things to do in my life recently! Hope you liked it, and please, as always, review! 


	24. Home

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Home**

It was mid afternoon by the time the caravan arrived at the lake. The knights stopped in front of the ice, the wagons stopping behind them.

"Is there any other way?" Arthur asked Tristan, anxiety evident in his usually calm voice.

The scout shook his head. "No. We have to cross the ice."

Dagonet was behind Arthur, and could see his shoulders sag slightly as he sighed, but he straightened up immediately, ever the hardened warrior.

"Tell them to spread out."

Dagonet dismounted and followed the others out onto the ice. He glanced back, and could see Lucan beside Guinevere in one of the wagons. Well, at least he was safe for the time being.

As they proceeded across the ice, Dagonet could hear the ice cracking and groaning ominously, and the horses skittered about nervously.

"Whoa there," Dagonet said, stroking his stallion's nose. "Whoa."

They were about halfway across the lake when they heard the Saxon drums: far away at first, but growing closer and closer. Dagonet watched as Arthur hesitated, indecisive for a moment, before swinging around to face the knights.

"Knights," was all he had to say. No other words were needed.

Dagonet suddenly felt an aching in his soul to fight. He had to prove to Adara that he could protect Lucan, to prove that he could fight for the son he had abandoned for so long.

"Well," Dagonet heard Bors say in his usual blunt fashion. "I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind my ass is hurting."

"Never like looking over my shoulder anyway," Tristan agreed in his guttural accent.

Dagonet grinned slightly with the strange euphoria he always felt before a battle. It was a momentary feeling that you were invincible, that no one could touch you, and it got him every time.

"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket," Gawain said.

"We'll finally get a look at the bastards," Galahad concurred.

Dagonet was already moving to get his weapons when he spoke. "Here," he said simply. "Now."

Dagonet was aware of Arthur's gaze passing to Lancelot, and the wiry knight just shook his head disapprovingly, yet Dagonet knew that he was far too loyal to Arthur to even consider refuting his commands, no matter how much he may dislike them.

Arthur called to Jols, but Dagonet was not listening. He took his weapons from his horse: his axe and the daggers, which he slotted into his boots, and he handed his horse over to one of the other men.

Dressing for battle was an age-old tradition. It was the same, familiar movements, spinning his axe in his hands, weighing it up, and accustoming himself to its weight. The same habits that he went through every time, so that they became as much a part of the battle as the arrows that would later fly.

He turned to see the man named Ganis protesting against their stupidity, or courage, however you wanted to think of it. "You're seven against two hundred!" he objected.

"Eight," Guinevere said, walking across the ice to join them. "You could use another bow."

Dagonet looked at the woman in amazement. He had not expected that much of her, and pleased as he was that she should stay and fight with them, he felt a reservation in his heart about leaving Lucan with the Romans. But he pushed this away. He had to fight for Lucan, for Adara, and the more bows that they had, the better a chance of survival.

He suddenly realised that he may never know how his son's mother died, but shrugged the thought away. What did it matter in the end? What mattered was her son, _his_ son, and Dagonet knew, at that moment, that he would go to hell and back for that child.

And so they stood, eight against two hundred. The wind swept loose snow across the ice, and Dagonet stood watching the carriage that bore Lucan away from him. Dagonet lifted his hand in farewell to the small boy, and Lucan raised his hand to acknowledge the salute.

And then they arrived.

The drums beat out the rhythm to which they marched onto the ice, and lined up in orderly ranks facing the knights.

Dagonet could see a discussion going on at the front of the Saxon lines, and a minute later an archer stepped forwards, sending an arrow flying towards them, but the Saxon bows were far out of range, and the arrow ended up skidding across the ice, far from the knights.

"I believe they're waiting for an invitation," Arthur said, in a hard voice. "Bors! Tristan!"

"We're far out of range," Guinevere protested, and Arthur just smiled as the two knights raised their bows, several arrows notched each, and sent them sailing across the ice with such force that even at that distance, they pierced the leather armour of several Saxons.

Dagonet could not help but smile as Arthur raised his eyebrows at Guinevere, who just glared back at him. The familiar exhilaration was running through his veins as the Saxons started to march across the ice and the knights raised their bows.

"Aim for the wings of the ranks. Make them cluster," Arthur told them, his voice calm, and betraying none of the fear that was running through the hearts of the knights.

Dagonet loosed his arrows, but did not wait to see if he had struck true. It was the same with the other knights. They did not pause to watch the Saxons die, instead they had the next arrow notched and were aiming within seconds.

Dagonet noticed, with some relief, the groans of the ice, as the Saxons clustered together, as the knights calmly picked off the stragglers on the edges. And yet, for all the protests of the ice, it was not cracking, and the Saxons continued their steady advance.

"It's not going to crack," Arthur suddenly said in horror. "Fall back. Fall back! Prepare for combat," Arthur's voice suddenly sounded very urgent, when compared to the usual composure with which he usually directed battles. He drew Excalibur, dropping back a few paces from the piles of arrows, to give himself space to wield the sword.

The other knights were abandoning their bows, and picking up their swords as well, but Dagonet hesitated, looking from the solitary line of knights and Guinevere, across to the hoards of advancing Saxons.

'So this is where it ends,' a dry voice in his mind told him. 'Flanked by your brothers as you fought, not to save, but only to delay the death of your son.'

Dagonet knew, as well as any of the knights, that nothing short of a divine intervention would save them now. They would die, killed, not in a glorious battle, but as dogs, on a desolate frozen lake, outnumbered and cut down. And they would not even be saving the wagonloads of people fleeing from the Saxons. Once the Saxons had cut down the knights, they would simply march on to slaughter the people whom Arthur had sworn to protect.

Lucan's face floated before Dagonet's mind. He had known his son only a few short days, and he was abandoning him again. He hadn't saved his mother, and he couldn't save Lucan.

Suddenly, Dagonet looked out across the ice, and did not see the hoards of Saxons, but instead Adara's smiling face. She was laughing at him. Laughing because he could not see the obvious. Dagonet smiled softly to himself, and bent down to retrieve his axe, Adara's smiling face still in his mind.

And before anyone could stop him, he was running across the ice, screaming at the Saxons, screaming with a fury for killing his beloved, and trying to kill his comrades and his son. He distantly heard the cries of the knights, but these faded as he attacked the ice. He hacked at it, hearing nothing but Adara's laugh in his ears. Suddenly, there was a huge cracking sound and the ice began breaking, and yet still Dagonet hacked at it, swearing viciously, until an arrow hit him in the chest.

There was no pain, just a feeling of detachment, as if he was watching his body from afar. His arms did not seem to be working, and he felt his legs buckle underneath him.

There was a brief moment, as he fell into the water, when it felt like he was being stabbed by a thousand knives, as the ice-cold water engulfed his senses, but then even that pain receded, and there was nothing but blackness, oblivion.

And through the darkness came a light. A light that slowly grew brighter and brighter, until, instead of being surrounded by shadows, he was surrounded by a blazing glory of light.

And through the light, he could make out a figure walking towards him. A figure in a golden dress, with a cascade of hazel hair over one shoulder, and a laugh in her eyes.

Dimly, Dagonet could hear Bors' voice, shouting at him, pleading for him to stay, but Dagonet did not want to stay. He wanted to go to the woman he had waited so long for. He paused for a fraction of a second, before making up his mind, and stepping forwards to meet Adara's embrace. He was home.

* * *

**A/N –** Well, there you go. Finished. The end. What did you think? Sorry it took so long to update, but I've been slightly obsessed with 'In Your Arms' at the moment, and this was kind of put to a side. I think I'm going to go back through it and update it, because I was just reading through a bit of it today, and it sucks! Anyway, this is my last update of new material, so enjoy, and review! Especially if there's anything in previous chapters that you think needs changing. Happy Christmas! 


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